"Oh, yet methought I saw the Holy Grail, All palled in crimson samite, and around Great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes." Half singing, half reciting, she passed out of the door and brushed by Leo, who entered at the moment. Like a shadow she faded out of the church, and left him staring after her. But high and sweet in the distance rose her voice, singing like a lark. "What's the matter with her now?" asked Leo as Sybil met him. "Nothing much. She has a belief that yonder cup is the veritable Holy Grail, and when I suggested that it was not she grew angry. But what a memory she has!" added Sybil, linking her arm within that of Leo. "Did you hear her recite Tennyson's lines? Well, she only heard them once before." "I daresay. But she cannot read, and those who can't read have always a marvelous memory. But the wonder to me is that her poor, cracked brain can hold anything. I know she's mad about the Grail, as she called that cup. Mrs Jeal told me that Pearl expects the cup will some day be snatched up to heaven to be used there. Poor soul!" "It is a sweet belief, though," murmured Sybil; then, after a pause, she drew Leo into the side chapel where the crusaders were set stiffly on their tombs. "We are safe here, Leo. No one will come. Sit down beside this pillar and let us talk. We have much to say to one another." "And nothing very pleasant," sighed Leo, as he sat down, and slipped his arm round the girl's waist. "Oh, Sybil, how foolish I have been getting into debt and quarrelling with Mrs Gabriel! It will end with my going away to the war. Indeed, I intended to have gone this week, only I could not leave you, and besides--" Here Leo hesitated. "What is it?" she asked, noticing that he looked nervous. "There is a chance of my debts being paid." "Mrs Gabriel?" "No, indeed. At first she said she would pay. Now she has changed her mind. But Hale has offered to lend me the money." Sybil looked anxious. "I don't like that," she said decidedly. "It is not like him to be so generous." "My dear," said Leo, taking her hand, "you are too hard upon poor Frank. I have known him now for many years, and it is reasonable enough that he should be willing to help an old playfellow." "It is not like him," insisted Miss Tempest. "I hope he is not laying a trap for you, Leo. He is spiteful enough to do that." "And when he has caught me in his trap, Sybil?" She shook her head. "It is easy laughing, but I don't like your accepting a favour from that cross-grained little man." "You are uncharitable, my dear." "I don't want to be. I am sure I am sorry poor Sir Frank is so afflicted, but I really wish he had a sweeter nature. Besides," her eyes fell and she began to play with a button on Leo's coat, "he is--I think--too fond of me." "Can anyone be too fond of you?" asked Haverleigh, not taking in the real significance of this remark.